


I Will Weather the Storm

by NameMeAgainIveBeenLost



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Healing, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, No Smut, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, POW Bucky, Romanian Bucky Barnes, Soul mates are identified with music, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28087995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NameMeAgainIveBeenLost/pseuds/NameMeAgainIveBeenLost
Summary: AU: Soul mates communicate by singing aloud. One person can hear the other person any time they sing. If a mate sings in front of their match, they can immediately identify each other. However, most matches will never meet. (Yes it's a song fic, sorry I saw this on Tiktok and wanted some winter warmth.)Bucky stopped singing two years ago after suffering at the hand of the Ten Rings and losing his arm. Steve's match went silent two years ago in the middle of a song.They meet through friends of a friend and find companionship in each other as the winter holidays drag on. Their connection is instant, Bucky's healing process less so.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Tony Stark/Pepper Potts (mentioned)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 148





	I Will Weather the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Bucky does briefly discuss his torture at the hands of the Ten Rings and the assumption here is that the Ten Rings and Hydra worked together.
> 
> I'm not Jewish. Hanukah is only briefly mentioned. I know the dates are off for 2020 Hanukah, so we're just gonna pretend this doesn't take place in 2020.
> 
> It's just fluff guys, it's literally just Bucky getting back on his feet and endless fluff.

Steve Rogers was born a measly five pounds, his little lungs rattled and shook and he was so blue the nurses thought he was a still born. And then, miraculously, he began to scream. Six weeks later his mother carried him home from the NICU.

Steve got bigger, but things never really got better. His clothes always had holes and as a baby he never noticed how thin his mother seemed. His earliest comfort in those first years was his mates happy babbling songs ringing in his head. Steve couldn’t hear well, one ear permanently deafened by a bad bout of pneumonia in his toddler years, but his mates voice was always clear as a whistle.

Steve sang back to his mate, off key, a little quiet at first. As he grew, so did his confidence. He had an endless library of music bouncing around his skull, a mix of jazz and Hebrew prayers, of sappy love songs he knew were just for him, and Romanian crooned like a lullaby. Steve tried to share his music in turn, indie artists and Irish folk songs, punk anthems, and the chanting from mass on Sunday mornings. His Ma always looked bittersweet when she caught Steve whisper-singing to himself, then laughing when his mate responded. She would remind Steve again and again through his teen years that the likelihood of actually meeting his mate was slim.

“Sweetheart, so few people meet their mate in this life, don’t limit yourself.” She’d say. He’d lie and say he understood, but the truth was, he was in love with a boy he’d never met.

Time passed, any time he heard a new song he’d excitedly learn all the lyrics so he could repeat it back to his mate, and it seemed his mate was doing the same. At night they took turns singing lullabies until Steve drifted off with his mate’s voice ringing in his head.

The day Steve’s Ma died, there was no music to comfort him. The bagpipes played a somber tune as the casket sank from view, entombing his mother beneath a modest stone, paid for by their church. Women from the church dabbed their eyes, black dresses dipping past their knees and fluttering in the spring breeze, their husbands gave him a pitying glance and slapped his shoulder as they passed.

He was grateful for the silence, until he went home to the apartment he had always lived in, and would soon have to vacate. Then the silence screamed from every corner. He curled up in his mothers’ bed and cried so hard the frame shook. The sheets and pillows smelled like her. The cancer had been too progressed by the time they caught it, chemo hadn’t even been an option. Her long blonde hairs still clung to the pillow Steve had pressed his face into.

“ _Oft in dreams I wander_

_To that cot again,_

_I feel her arms a-huggin' me_

_As when she held me then._

_And I hear her voice a -hummin'_ -“

The words were cracking and fragile, like thin ice under strain. Steve’s sobs renewed as his mate responded, the lullaby starting again, easing the ache in his head.

“ _Over in Killarney_

_Many years ago,_

_Me Mither sang a song to me_

_In tones so sweet and low…_ ”

* * *

The songs changed as Steve finished his final year of college. He now had a mountain of debt at his back, sure, but it had been his mothers wish to see him with diploma in hand and he intended to make her proud. His paintings began to sell, though not well or for very much, but it was a start he could take pride in. His mate began to sing more often, though it sounded a bit like campfire songs, and Steve recognized several old war tunes. Perhaps his mate had enlisted in the army?

Their music changed, but their bond remained uncommonly strong, day or night Steve was always eager to answer his mate’s call. He noticed his mate singing at night more and more often, leading Steve to believe he’d gone to another time zone. The likelihood of their meeting seemed slimmer every day.

In the meantime, his heart and kidneys gave out on him, and he encountered two miracles by the name of Sam Wilson and Tony Stark. One saved him from a life of loneliness, the other from poverty and illness.

A few years later, everything changed drastically. Steve knew something was wrong the day he awoke in a sweat, having yet again fallen asleep at his worktable. He could hear Sam snoring in the room over, but that wasn’t what had awoken him. His mate was singing, and it was the saddest, smallest little thing Steve had ever heard. Broken and barely more than a passing breathe. It made Steve’s heart clinch. He sang back, an old lullaby he hadn’t sang in years.

“ _Listen children to a story,_

_That was written long ago,_

_Bout a kingdom on a mountain,_

_And the valley folk below-_ “

He sang through the whole song twice, by the time he was done, silence reigned on the other end.

Six months later Steve heard his mate sing once more, still a rattling gasp, a whisper in the dark, a promise Steve suddenly knew would never be fulfilled.

“ _My baby never fret none_

_About what my hands and my body done_

_If the lord don't forgive me_

_I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me_

_When I was kissing on my baby_

_And she put her love down soft and sweet_

_In the lowland plot I was free_

_Heaven and hell were words to me_

_When… my… time comes around_ ” There was a silence here, but Steve could almost hear phantom sobbing in his ears.

“ _Lay me gently in the cold dark earth_

_No grave can hold my body down_

_I'll crawl home to…._ ” The voice trailed off.

Steve was left with a silence, pervasive, all encompassing, consuming.

And it never ended.

* * *

Bucky had lived a charmed life until his good intentions got in the way. His mate sang often, there was always food and a warm bed, his father was kind, and his mother pinched his cheeks. But then he wanted to make his late father proud, he got caught up in the propaganda. And it turned out… he was a pretty decent shot. One year turned to two, then three. One deployment then another. While he was overseas, he would sing often, eagerly volunteered to play the beat up guitar around the fire with his men, he always paused with a smile when his mate joined in. A little off key, a little breathless, like he couldn’t draw air properly, a little perfect.

Then the whole thing went tits up. Six of them were taken. They spent months being tortured and broken by the enemy. One by one the herd was thinned.

Until only Bucky was left.

They spent months brainwashing him. Torture then kindness, then torture again, until the Doctor arrived. A rat-faced man with a thick eastern European accent. He experimented on Bucky, did terrible things that only came back in flashes of pain and misery, a horror so deep he could only freeze at the thought of it.

They tore his arm off, he awoke in his cell, pain radiating from his ribs to his spine and neck, he couldn’t feel a thing in his left arm. He assumed they had damaged the nerves in some way, until he lifted himself, and there was a whirring sound, a tearing pain that made him sway. He jolted upright and immediately regretted it as he grabbed and lifted up his heavy left arm in the meager light. It was silver, his own blood dripping down the sides.

He screamed

And screamed

And screamed.

Until three of the guards rushed him, holding him down and mercifully drugging him, a small reprieve from his nightmare. He knew he was going to die here, face down on the compact dirt floor, the smell of blood in his nostrils, flies landing in his overgrown hair. He knew, in his bones, that he would die there.

He couldn’t say goodbye to his Ma, or his sister, he couldn’t tell Clint to just ask out that girl in his archery class or introduce Natasha to that doctor up at the university. But, he supposed, he could say goodbye to his mate. His one true and constant companion for all his mere twenty-six years on this earth. He got barely a quarter of a century. There would be no weddings or kids, no birthdays, or Hanukahs, no more fourth of July on the beach. Just this little dirt cage in a cave in the middle of a desert. He tried to sing to his mate, tried to convince them both that he would come home.

“ _I’ll crawl home to…_ you _._ ” He choked on the last word as the arm tore at his shoulder, his ribs and spine screaming in agony. He succumbed.

* * *

Two weeks later there was yelling and gunfire and screaming. Bucky didn’t even flinch, his mind had drifted, and he wasn’t even sure of his own name at that point. Even two years later, he only remembered lights so bright they made him tear up, and voices calling his name. He doesn’t remember trying to attack them when they touched his shoulder, doesn’t remember dragging the heavy metal arm across the ground and sliding away, backing into the corner. Doesn’t remember them drugging him or passing all the crumpled bodies of his captors on the way out. Doesn’t recall the jet roaring through the sky, the doctors frantically analyzing his metal monstrosity. He remembers a sad song in his head.

“ _Dearest, the shadows, I live with are numberless_

_Little white flowers will never awaken you_

_Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you_

_Angels have no thought of ever returning you_

_Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?_ ”

He wanted to respond, but the pull of his shoulder dragged him into unconsciousness.

* * *

He recalls waking up a week later, his family at his bed side, their tears and insistent hands touching him, even when it made his heart pound and he tried to peel them off. He remembers looking down at his left shoulder, not even a stump left of his arm.

After that it’s a blur again. He knows he lives in a rehab facility for a while, doesn’t like to be touched, and wishes he could turn off the sad music in his head. It’s all tragedy and melancholy and he knows it’s his fault. But he can’t do anything to fix it, he can’t even care for himself right now, let alone comfort someone he’s never met.

He transitions into a halfway house for fellow veterans, it’s better than the facility in some ways, the other veterans know how to behave around each other, know not to touch or make any sudden moves. Bucky gets put in a counseling group with a man named Sam Wilson. He was air force, until a mission went sour and he and his partner were struck down. He came home with some burns from the crash, and a sadness which he hid well behind his gap-toothed grin. Bucky liked him, though they rarely talked.

Actually… Bucky never really talked these days. He would have stilted conversations with his family when they visited, or caught him on the phone, he would struggle to choke out words during his therapy session but said little else. He hadn’t sung since the cave. How could he? There wasn’t anything left of him, it would be cruel to give his mate hope for a companion when Bucky barely felt human most days.

His mate never stopped singing, after a while the songs became happier. Bucky hoped that his mate had moved on, though part of him was immensely jealous.

Bucky eventually got an apartment, followed by a job working security at Stark Inc. Sam’s friend, who worked for Stark, having vouched for him. Despite his missing limb, Bucky was still as fit as ever and easily outpaced the other guards when going through evaluation. Those long months in rehab had left him with little to do except work his body to the limit, hoping he’d be able to sleep or just rest in peace. It never worked.

It didn’t take long until Stark noticed Bucky, he stared at the empty space which should have held Bucky’s arm for a little too long. It made Bucky shift nervously, his chin tilted up in defiance the day Stark approached. Bucky felt as if he was still in that cave, trying to be braver than he was.

“You the new guy? The vet?” Stark said briskly. Bucky clinched his teeth and lifted his jaw an inch in challenge, billionaire or not, he wasn’t going to be put down.

“Yea, James Barnes. I’m a friend of Sam Wilson's.” Stark hummed in acknowledgment and squinted at Bucky’s pinned up sleeve again, tilting his head. Bucky was about to retort that he wasn’t a zoo animal, thanks so much, when Stark spoke again.

“Does it throw your balance off?” Stark asked bluntly, Bucky deflated a little, confused.

“What?” he asked.

“Your arm, Nemo, does it throw off your balance?” Stark gestured loudly at Bucky’s missing limb. Bucky looked around the busy lobby, but everyone seemed consumed with their own devices or conversations to notice the odd interaction.

“I-“ he started, unsure how to respond, but was saved when a small blonde man with a satchel and paint stained jeans entered and started power walking towards them.

Bucky blankly thought “ _a walk like that could bring a man to his knees_ ” and immediately flushed. The kid was short, probably not even brushing 5”5’, with a neatly combed head of blonde hair and an unbuttoned red flannel over a Flogging Molly t-shirt which was equally paint stained.

“Tony! There you are.” As he spoke, Bucky realized he wasn’t nearly as young as Bucky had first assumed. As he got closer it was clear from the cut of his jaw and the depth of his voice that he was probably closer to thirty than twenty.

“Rogers! My little bionic man!” Stark flung an arm over Rogers shoulder, pulling him close and shaking him like a brother would. Rogers looked exasperated and like he might smack the billionaire.

“Stop calling me that,” Rogers huffed.

He cast Bucky a look, pausing as his bright blue eyes looked over Bucky’s face, probably noting his unkempt hair tied back with an elastic ( _frankly Bucky had been too scared to visit a salon, barely letting his mother trim the edges. They tried to buzz it off once, but the sound had set Bucky nerves on edge and he’d jumped up, upsetting the chair and his mother_ ) his three-day beard and the bruises under his eyes from too many years spent sleepless and too many nights with his demons. It was a moment before Rogers eyes drifted to Bucky’s pinned sleeve and absent arm, but then his eyes bounced immediately back to Bucky’s face.

“Hey,” he held his hand out, “I’m Steve Rogers. You’re Sam’s friend, right?” Bucky lifted a brow. When Sam said he had a friend who’d vouched for him at Stark Inc., he’d assumed it was a fellow vet, maybe one of the lucky bastards in Stark’s rehab programs, getting new limbs and new leases on life.

“Yea, I’m Bucky Barnes. I think I owe you thanks.” Bucky stuck out his hand hesitantly, the thought of touching someone making him want to recoil. Steve’s hand was warm, small, callused in places Bucky wasn’t familiar with, his nails bitten to the quick and splattered in paint. Bucky felt something twist in his gut when they touched. God, when was the last time he’d gotten laid? Was it Jonathan Dickson? Back before the secret missions and months under cover of darkness? When he’d just been a kid with great aim and a silver tipped tongue?

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve blushed, the tell obvious on his fair skin, “I trust Sam’s judgment, and he said you were good.”

“Well, I appreciate it regardless. If you ever need anything you know where I am.” Bucky gave him a tight smile, eyes darting back to his desk. Steve looked like he wanted to say something more, but Stark demanded his attention.

“I still need to look at your heart you know,” Stark whined like a child. Steve closed his blue eyes and rolled them skyward in exasperation.

“ _After_ you look at this sketch for the benefit, which is in less than a _month_ , Tony!” Steve demanded wearily, and he was whisked away. Bucky watched them go with a heavy feeling in his heart, and no small amount of regret when he saw Steve’s ass moving in those jeans.

If it had been two years ago, back before the months of pain, before the year of blood and gore, before he stopped singing, Bucky would have charmed Steve into a date. Maybe more than that, hell, probably a lot more than that.

A few hours later, Bucky watched as Steve stepped off the elevator, surrounded by stuffy business suits. Steve held himself tall, shoulders back and chin tilted up, an endless challenge to oppose him. It was kind of stupid hot. His blue eyes darted around the lobby quickly, before landing on Bucky, who immediately tried to pretend he had been aimlessly switching between security cameras and not staring at the smaller man. He saw Steve making a beeline for him.

“Hey, Bucky right?” He asked as he approached. Bucky blinked up at him.

“Uh, yea, Steve, right?” The corner of Steve’s mouth lifted in a smile and Bucky felt himself gulp nervously.

“Right. Listen, I know Sam said you’ve had a rough go of it, so I wanted to warn you. Tony had a friend who had a spinal fracture a while back, he’s been trying to make electro-skeletons and bionic limbs ever since.”

“Yea…” Bucky furrowed his brow in confusion. “I know. He’s got a rehab program for decorated vets, trying to help people walk again or something. Why?”

Steve looked around, then leaned closer, over the desk. He had to have been on his tip toes. His shirt slid down and Bucky’s eyes chased the line of his exposed collar bone, flushing again and cursing himself.

“Tony’s gonna try and recruit you. He’s really insistent as a general rule, doesn’t take no for an answer. But if you don’t want it, you can tell him so. I just wanted you to know you’re not gonna lose your job or anything if you tell him to fuck off, you know?”

“Wait, what? What does he want with me?” Bucky asked, thoroughly confused now.

“He wants to make you an arm.” Bucky blinked at him numbly, he felt his left arm move on instinct, a phantom twitch.

“He wants to give me an _arm_?”

Steve nodded, chewing his lip nervously. “He was excited, said something about being able to do it better this time. I just wanted to give you a heads up. Tony is really intense, and touchy too. If you can’t handle it, just tell him to fuck off, it’s ok.”

“Uh… thanks. For the heads up, I mean.” Bucky said. Steve smiled tightly, his eyes drawing over Bucky’s face one more time, like he was trying to memorize it.

“Well, listen, if you _do_ take him up, I guess I’ll see you in the labs.” Steve winked and turned to go before Bucky could ask why.

* * *

Stark wasn’t subtle about his interest. He stopped by Bucky’s desk almost every morning, usually about ten minutes after he clocked in. He asked digging questions about Bucky’s weight, about which hand was dominate ( _Bucky had been ambidextrous, thankfully_ ), about his exercise routine, did Bucky know how much he could bench press with one arm? How about before he lost the other one?

Bucky indulged him for now, but he knew where this was leading and still wasn’t sure if it was something he wanted. He had flashes of the dirty lab in that cave. Flashes of sharp pain and the little rat faced doctor with his thick accent, calling him a miracle. Touching him, hands running down his arm, his chest. The smell of burning flesh and blood still filled his nose in the night. Thankfully, the removal process had been done under full anesthesia and he simply awoke with the stabbing weight lifted from him. But the idea of willingly letting someone attach another hunk of metal to him, of another hospital gurney, another set of hands on him… well… it was a lot to process.

Stark finally made his move two months later, just after Thanksgiving. Bucky had seen Steve twice a week every week during that time, always nodding his way with a smile, a coffee in hand. Bucky had waved back, probably looking dumb and dull. In that time Bucky had bought conditioner and allowed his mom to give him a bigger trim. His hair had some kind of shape now, and the conditioner made it soft and shiny. He finally started to keep himself shaved as well, he’d tried an electric shaver, but the buzzing reminded him too much of the electric bone saw, so he’d opted for a clean shave instead. He didn’t look great, per say, dark bags still rimmed his eyes, but he at least looked more human in the mirror.

His mate had been singing more. Love songs. Part of him hoped this meant his mate was moving on, had maybe found someone to love him. Part of him was jealous of whoever had his mate singing so frequently.

Stark stepped off the elevator five minutes before Bucky was due to clock out. Bucky was chatting amicably, if a little stiffly with the night guard who had come to replace him, a genial man named Phil Coulson with a gentle smile that set Bucky at ease. Stark spotted him and made a beeline, the people parted before him like the red sea.

“You,” he said, pointing at Bucky, “with me, come on kid.” He jerked his head back towards the elevator. Bucky looked at Phil.

“I’m good, you go on Bucky.” Phil said, leaning over the computer to clock in.

“Uh, ok, let me just clock out-“ Bucky started.

“Nope, you’re on company time kid, let’s move!” Stark motioned insistently towards the elevator and Bucky hesitated, before nodding and following the man. Once inside the elevator, Stark was practically vibrating with excitement.

“You’re gonna love this, well, maybe not. Given your history-“

Bucky cut the older man off, “What do you know about my history?” he asked, suspicious.

Stark didn’t even have the decency to look chastised. “You, my unlucky friend, ran a foul with the Ten Rings, don’t feel bad, no shame. We’ve all been there. Sadistic fucks. Anyway, not a great way to spend six months, and then they went and hacked off your arm, you have great arms by the way, seriously I want to try your routine, then tried to replace it with radioactive terminator gear. Idiots, it was way too heavy, would have ripped your spine out and poisoned you. You’re lucky help got there when it did-“

“Woah, woah, none of that was in the news when I came home, how the hell-?”

“Kid,” Stark shot Bucky a serious look, “You think I don’t rigorously screen every man, woman, and child that walks through those doors? You _do_ realize I and my mate both live here, right?” Bucky shrugged, reminded quiet suddenly of Stark’s own time under the Ten Rings fraction.

He had designed his own bionic heart upon arriving back home after the Ten Rings had caused his to begin failing through extensive torture, forcing him to utilize scrap to keep himself alive. After that, he shut down all weapons manufacturing and turned his sights towards disability assistance and renewable energy production. Bucky vaguely recalled Steve mentioning Stark having a friend who was hurt, pushing him to open his vet rehab program.

Bucky wasn’t quite sure what to say, but it seemed Stark needed no prompting. He immediately set off again, talking about renewable resources to power an arm and thousands of sensors. He lost Bucky about ten seconds in, so Bucky was happy to stand and contemplate the turn his day had taken. He tuned out as the elevator carried them up and up into the floors Bucky hadn’t access to. The elevator didn’t jolt but glided to a smooth stop. The doors open to a private lab encased in glass walls.

“I thought the rehab room might be a bit much, though everyone is usually gone by now anyway. Well, except Steve, kid keeps hours worse than me.” Stark shook his head. He approached the door and waved his hand. A screen appeared on the clear glass.

“Good evening, Mr. Stark. Welcome, Sergeant Barnes.” A British man’s voice said, the door unlocking and sliding open. Bucky gapped a little.

“J, go ahead and pull up the specs for the Barnes arm for me. And footage of Janet with her new foot, thanks hon.” Stark said distractedly. He kicked a stool towards Bucky, sitting on his own in front of a large glowing table. Bucky hesitantly rolled the stool closer and sat.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” Stark started as a diagram of a metallic arm appeared in holographic form over the table. “I’ve got a new design I’ve been working on. It’s lighter than the feet and legs I’ve done in the past. The biggest thing I really want to change about your arm is the sensors.”

“Sensors?” Bucky asked blankly as Stark spun the model of the arm around in the air, zooming in and out to analyze wires on the diagram.

“Yea, I mean it’s your arm, right? You want to be able to feel. So, I’ve been working on adding thousands of itty bitty sensors all over it. I need to look at your other arms sensitivity, run some tests to match it up. And my anchoring system is a lot better than whatever the fuck they tried to do before. I can balance it out, so it won’t pull, but you’ll have to come back yearly to check your weight. I’m thinking of using magnetic weights inside the arm itself so that weight can be added or lifted as needed instead of replacing the whole thing. That may have to wait till we see how this version works, though. If we need to replace the original one with an update we can, no biggy. I’d like to get you in the rehab program as soon as possible though, especially with the sensors, they’ll need to be tested before I change much else. The power source is my own design. Well, technically my dad figured it out but wasn’t sure how to manufacture it back then. Anyway, totally clean, shouldn’t overheat on you, it can last a lifetime and if need be, replaced without surgery. If all goes well, you should only have to go under the knife once- do you have anyone at home with you?”

It took Bucky a minute to process that Stark had asked him a question. “I, home? No, no, I live alone. But my mom is in the city- wait, wait, are you saying you made me an arm already?” Bucky asked, incredulous.

“Well… yea?” Stark said like it was obvious. “I run a program for vets with missing or injured limbs, last I checked, you fit the bill, kid. To a T.”

“Shouldn’t you… I don’t know, ask first?” Bucky asked, “you can’t just tell people what to do with their bodies.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stark said sarcastically, “may I _please_ have your permission to help you get back on your feet?”

“And if I say no?” Bucky asked, getting angry now. Sure, he’d been warned, but he didn’t like the idea of Stark just making this decision for him, he thought he’d at least be asked first.

“Well...” Stark looked puzzled, “then I guess you won’t have a super cool terminator arm. But, come on, look at it!” He gestured to the arm hovering before them. “It’s so pretty…” Stark looked at it dreamily, and Bucky felt as if he’d intruded on a private moment.

“And…the cost?” Bucky asked hesitantly. He had almost nothing to his name, the majority of his paychecks still going to hospital bills.

“Pfft,” Stark rolled his eyes and waved his hand, “kid please. You’re doing _me_ a favor. I’ll be covering any past bills related to your service injuries and you’ll be paid for your time, plus room and board during recovery and rehab.”

“What about my job here? I can keep it?”

“Of course, hell you stick around, and I may move you up the chain, god knows you’ve got plenty of training.” It had never occurred to Bucky that this job could be anymore than a step along the way. The idea of financial security, of… of living, having a future…. It stretched out before him, a sudden moment where he realized he was being given a chance to live past tomorrow, to return home for real, to thrive and heal, and…. It felt scary and big. He didn’t know how to handle it.

“I…. can I have time to think about it?” Bucky asked, feeling fuzzy and numb.

“Sure, kid. Let me get measurements of your arms and shoulder and I’ll work on a general mockup. Give me a week to get it together, then you can come back, we’ll go over the procedure and the rehab process, and start our other tests if you say yes. Sound good?” Stark was still focused on the arm before him, scribbling on the table with a stylus and not paying Bucky any mind.

“Yea, good.” Bucky said vaguely.

At Stark’s insistence, he removed his shirt and moved into a clear space in the lab. Stark’s weird talking AI took his measurements with scanners, bidding him to move this way and that. He felt a bit silly but was grateful he wouldn’t have to be touched just yet.

“Oh! Before you go, look at this.” Stark motioned him over as Bucky finished putting back on his uniform shirt. A video began to play over the table. It was a black woman with a tight bun in her hair. She was dressed in athletic clothes, Bucky watched as she ran along a soccer field, playing along with other women. The woman scored a goal. Then the video switched, she was wearing shorts and a sports bra, sitting atop a doctors table. She lifted her foot to show the camera, the gunmetal black glinting in the light, the arch of her foot delicate and as real as her matching flesh one.

“That’s Janet. Lost her foot in an IED explosion a few years ago. She’s been working with a prosthetic, but she got her cyborg foot about 8 months ago. She’s doing well. She doesn’t have sensors in her foot so she can’t feel anything, but other than that she says it’s perfect. Just wanted to show you what my limbs can do. It’s perfectly safe, but I just want it perfect before it’s released to the general public, you know? I’m still trying to cut down on the cost so that…” Bucky tuned Stark out and watched the video continue to roll, he watched her remove her old prosthetic, a stump ending at midcalf where her foot should have been, scars dancing up her leg. She looked just as happy in that video as the others, laughing as the doctor examined her missing limb, totally at ease. Bucky envied her.

“Ok,” he said, tearing his eyes away, “thanks. I’ll, um, I’ll let you know next week. How do I get a hold of you?”

“Like we did today. Just don’t clock out, get in the elevator and ask Jarvis to bring you to me.”

“Alright, next week then.” Stark hummed and waved him off.

* * *

Bucky’s first stop was his mom’s house. It was late, but he needed to see her. His mate wouldn’t stop singing the whole ride.

“ _There's no plan, there's no race to be run_

_The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun_

_There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come_

_I'll be your man if you got love to get done-_ ”

Bucky caught himself tapping his fingers in time, almost humming along before he halted himself.

* * *

Winnifred Barnes was in her robe and large reading glasses when he knocked on the door of his childhood home. The air was biting, it would probably snow that night.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” She always asked that these days.

“Nothing Ma, I just… I got some news and-“

“Baby, come inside.” She ushered him in off the street.

The door closed behind him, warmth immediately enveloping him. She held her arms out in invitation, long since having learned that Bucky didn’t react well to physical touch. Bucky hesitated, but he longed to be enveloped by her hand. He folded into her, tucking his face against her neck, she smelled the same way she had smelled in all his memories, shaky as they may still be. She held him tightly, knowing he may not be able to withstand her touch the next time they met. He tried to push away the guilt, he had tried to shield his family as best he could from the agony of seeing him in such pain, but in reality, he knew he had only hurt them with his own isolation. He wondered what it would be like to embrace his mother with two arms once more.

A few minutes later found him in the armchair by the fireplace. Bucky took up his fathers’ old recliner, he swore he could still smell the mans aftershave ingrained in the leather, even all these years after his death.

“You know I got that job up at Stark industries?” Bucky said, speaking up to be heard as his Ma made them tea in the kitchen.

“Of course, how’s it going sweetie?” Bucky could tell from her apprehension she was worried he was about to tell her he’d been fired.

“It’s fine, they got this fella, Phil, nice guy.” His mother came back in the room with two steaming mugs. She dragged a side table closer to Bucky, so he could set the mug down.

“Good, I’m glad you’re meeting people. But did you trek all the way across the city at 9 o’clock just to tell me that?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, the hesitated. “You know Tony Stark’s got that vet rehabilitation program?”

“That penance project of his, yea I know. Why?”

Bucky chewed his lip, “he, uh… he asked me to join.”

“Join how?” His Ma asked, lowering her mug.

“He, um… He wants to make me an arm.” Bucky rubbed his vacant shoulder; he could feel to scarred flesh even through his shirt.

“Bucky,” his Ma gasped, setting down her mug, “baby that’s wonderful.”

“I’m scared,” Bucky blurted out. “I’m scared of the surgery. And then he said he wanted me to stay on with security, said he might start moving me up because of my training. I kinda think it’s cause of… the Ten Rings, you know they had him too and- anyway. I don’t know. It’s a lot. I just- I don’t know what to do.” He looked at his Ma under his lashes, feeling all of eight years old again and seeking guidance.

“I know its scary,” she hesitated, before setting a hand on his knee. The touch made his insides squirm unpleasantly, but after a moment he breathed easier. “I think this would be good for you. It’s… Sweetheart you haven’t gotten any breaks since- You deserve this more than anyone I can imagine. And you’re so brave, so incredibly brave. You’ll get through the surgery; it won’t be like last time.”

“Will you go with me?” Bucky asked hesitantly. His Ma smiled, the lines around her eyes and the grey in her hair stood in stark contrast against the fire light.

“Of course, baby.”

* * *

Sam approached him at the refreshments table after that weeks meeting, far too casual.

“So… word is Stark’s about ready to sink his claws into you.”

“Word travels fast for such a big city,” Bucky replied noncommittally, blowing on his subpar coffee. Sam shot him a look and Bucky smiled, brittle but true.

“Yea, I think I’ve decided to let him play mad scientist. I’ll be talking to him about it on Tuesday.”

“Are you sure about this, man?” Sam asked, truly concerned. Bucky hesitated, eyes flashing around the VA hall. People mingled about and talked in roaring laughter and somber whispers.

“Yea. Yea I think I am. It’d be a hell of an offer to turn down, ya know?” Bucky shrugged. Humming started up in his head, a Christmas carol to match to snow falling outside. It made him smile. Maybe one day soon he’d return it.

“Well, if that’s the case you ought to get brunch with Steve and I this Saturday.”

“Steve? Rogers? Stark’s artist friend?” Bucky tried to act casual, as if he didn’t remember every curve of the blonde’s body or his blue eyes boring holes into Bucky.

“Yea. We try to catch a meal together at least a few times a month, we used to be roommates you know, back after I just got home. He’s a great guy, he’s always up in the rehab area, Stark’s turned the poor kid into his personal guinea pig.” Sam laughed good naturedly, but the image of Steve strapped down to a table as he’d once been made Bucky’s stomach swoop unpleasantly. 

* * *

His mate had been singing non-stop. He had moved onto old jazz songs; Bucky had heard Billie Holiday’s “ _I’ll Be Seeing You_ ” about ten times since Thursday evening. He kept having to stop himself from humming along, though he couldn’t stop tapping his toe or his fingers.

Saturday came quickly. Bucky rose early as usual, though he had managed a few more hours than was typical, so he counted it as a win. He arrived at the brunch café ten minutes early and grabbed a seat by a window. Snow drifted down onto cars and sidewalks. The snow on the ground had gone dirty and brown, slush piled against the building walls and drainage pipes. His mate sang _"J_ _ingle Bells"_ in his head. It stopped suddenly, and a gust of cold air blew in from outside, Bucky looked up from his place between the wall and window to see Steve tugging a beanie off his head. Bucky lifted his hand in greeting and Steve’s face brightened, his cheeks bright red from the cold. He swerved between tables easily, excusing himself politely. Bucky had the inane thought that Steve had the kind of manners a mother would love.

“Bucky, hey.” Steve said, holding out his hand. Bucky stood quickly, nearly upsetting his chair and cup of coffee as he did so. He flushed in embarrassment but extended his hand to shake Steve’s.

“Steve, it’s nice to see you again.”

“You too.” Steve smiled, stripping off his coat and scarf.

He sat opposite Bucky and only spared a passing glance at his missing arm. His eyes locked back on Bucky. Bucky realized that each time he saw Steve, the smaller man’s eyes always landed on his face, as if his arm was just an afterthought. Bucky liked that, it made him feel seen for the first time since returning home, even his mother lingered on his arm more than his face. As if the whole of him had been contained in that one limb, who knows, maybe it had.

The waitress came by and grabbed Steve’s order for a black coffee, a charming grin in place. They made small talk about the weather and the shitty New York traffic until the waitress came back with Steve’s drink.

“So,” Steve said as he stirred in a packet of sugar, “I hear you’re joining Tony’s program.”

Bucky shifted and shrugged, “you were right, he’s insistent. Plus… he said I could feel. In my arm, I mean.”

“I don’t doubt it. He’s been wanting someone to test it on for a while.”

“Stark said you’re part of the program too? Are you a vet?” Bucky asked. Steve snorted.

“No way, I’d have never made it through the front door. I’ve got about every illness in the book. A few years back Stark was coming through the hospital he was treated at back after the Ten Rings fiasco,” Bucky fought a flinch at the name “I guess he bought them a new wing in thanks. Anyway, he saw me doing dialysis treatments, just sketching. I guess he liked it. He bought it off me for like $500 and asked me why I was there. I told him, you know, my heart, my kidneys, all of it was failing. I don’t know why I was trying at that point; you know? It was a waste of money I didn’t have, and Sam was really my only friend.” Steve chuckled self-depreciatively and took a sip of his coffee. Bucky kindly brushed the waitress off when she came back, intent on Steve’s story.

“Anyway, Stark told me to come to the tower. He starts talking about advanced lifelong pacemakers and bionic organs. I was apprehensive, I mean I didn’t have any money to my name, my Ma had already passed, I was just a struggling art student, you know? But he insisted, so I thought… what the hell.”

“And it worked?” Bucky asked.

“Mostly. My kidneys are fine now, but my body rejected the first heart. I’m on a mainstream artificial heart right now, but Tony says he’s got a brand new one ready for testing. He wants to put it through its paces before he sticks it inside me though.”

“Aren’t you scared your heart will give out before Stark finishes?” Bucky asked, an unexplained panic going through him at the thought of this practical stranger’s demise.

Steve shrugged, “not really. Tony’s just about done building the thing, said it already worked on other test subjects. One thing about Tony, he’s obsessive and doesn’t stop until he’s done. I imagine he’ll want to do surgery before the year is out. Plus…My Ma and my mate are on the other side. I’m alright with it if it happens.” It was a casual acceptance Bucky had become familiar with during his service, an acceptance of the inevitability of the beyond.

“I’m sorry about that, how long ago did they pass?” Bucky couldn’t imagine meeting a mate so early in life, only to have it ripped away so young.

“My Ma got cancer and passed when I was eighteen. But my mate…well, I didn’t actually get them. But he just… stopped singing a few years ago. Just cut off in the middle of a song and never…” Steve shrugged, looking a bit sad. “It’s very quiet now.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine…” Bucky gave a tight smile, “I always thought it was cruel, letting us hear someone we’ll probably never have, you know?”

“Yea, right? Who’s idea was that?” Steve shook his head.

“So, what do you do now? Besides the program stuff, I mean.” Bucky added after an awkward moment. God, he used to be such a smooth talker, look at him now.

“Well, Stark kinda… frankly I think he keeps me as a pet project. He buys a lot of my art, commissions a lot of stuff. I got a few pieces in a couple better known galleries though, so I’m not complaining. Frankly, I think Tony just likes to collect people who can stand to be around him for more than a few hours. His poor mate, I don’t know how Pepper has done it all these years. Anyway, I’ve gone back to school, I want to go into art conservation. I think it’d be really great to bring old pieces back to life.”

Steve suddenly shot off like a rocket, his eyes lighting up as he talked and talked about ancient art techniques, conservation methods and art eras. He leaned in close, elbows planted on the table, coffee growing cold. Bucky couldn’t stop himself from staring in awe, hanging on every word.

Finally, the waitress came back, patient but also firm, telling them they would need to order. The spell was broken, and they realized that almost an hour had passed, with Sam nowhere in sight. Steve checked his phone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he told the waitress, “our friend texted me half an hour ago saying he couldn’t make it.” The waitress looked remiss at the knowledge she wouldn’t receive a tip. Bucky took pity, or more likely, wanted Steve to himself a while longer.

“We could just eat? Us two?” He suggested hesitantly. Steve flushed but a smile tugged at his lips.

“Yea,” he said, “I’m ok with that.”

* * *

Had it counted as a date? Bucky didn’t know. The music swelled in his head, his mate was always singing and humming now, constant buzzing in the back of Bucky’s skull, propelling him on, strengthening his resolve. One day, he told himself, he would sing back.

Tuesday came, and as with before, he told Phil goodbye, neglecting to clock out, and boarded the elevator. The AI took him to Stark’s lab. Steve was sitting on the glowing table. An Asian woman with a tight bun and wide eyes was listening intently to Steve’s chest. A hologram of Steve’s internal organs was hovering behind him. Stark was talking seriously with both of them, spinning the hologram through the air.

Bucky almost turned around to wait, but the door slid open before he could. Everyone looked up at him, Steve smiled brightly, and Bucky couldn’t help smiling back.

“Buckaroonie! You made it.” Stark yelled, loud enough to make Bucky cringe.

“Uh, yea,” Bucky said, trying to will himself to overt his eyes from the way Steve’s lithe chest rise and fell with each breathe. “Should I go wait-“

“No, no, bionic boy is nearly done.”

“Tony” Steve sighed wearily, rolling his eyes good naturedly.

“Only teasing, kid.” Stark promised, winking at Bucky who couldn’t help a smile.

“Tony says the heart’s done. He wanted to check and make sure I’m healthy enough for surgery.” Steve explained as Tony scribbled on the table, chewing on the end of his stylus as he looked between the floating diagram of Steve’s organs, and the paper diagrams spread out on the table next to him.

“We’re getting that spine next, Steve-o. I’m thinking some adjustable vibranium plates to straightened it out permanently.” Tony told him, squinting at Steve’s crooked spine on the hologram.

“Why not just plop my brain in a suit of iron, Tons?” Steve shot back, rolling his eyes good naturedly.

“Well, I could, but I haven’t even begun to work on a functional metal coc-“

“Mr. Stark!” The Asian woman in scrubs cut him off, looking annoyed and chastising. Tony only snickered in response, making Steve roll his eyes and shake his head.

“You see what I deal with, Buck?” He asked. Bucky’s lip twitched up, betraying his amusement, flushing a little at Steve shortening his name, it felt intimate.

A few moments later Tony straightened and stretched.

“All right kid, you’re done. Keep up with the rules Cho gave you, don’t forget to come in on-“

“Next Wednesday, I know. I’ll be here. You need to give me the green light on that Christmas Gala piece before I go under the knife, Tony.”

“I trust you Rogers, it’ll look great.” Tony said dismissively as Steve hopped off the table and began to put his button his shirt on. He walked over to Bucky, who was trying not to trace the way Steve’s fingers danced over the buttons, covering inch by inch of the pale skin. The pale scar from his heart replacement running down the center of his chest seemed to glow silver in the light.

“Don’t let him annoy you too much,” Steve said with a sigh. “Hey, listen, since we’re gonna be in the rehab program at the same time, I was gonna see if you wanted to, I dunno, grab a coffee?” Bucky wondered if Steve stalled his fingers just below his collarbone to tempt Bucky’s resolve, give the man a chance to wonder what the skin would look like blooming with bruises from his mouth.

“Coffee?” Bucky asked dumbly, before jerking his eyes back to Steve’s face. Steve was flushed, but smiling slightly, like he knew what Bucky had been looking at.

“Yea, or brunch? What days are you off?”

“Uhh… Saturday, and Friday. We could… meet at the same place?”

“I’d like that. Here,” Steve pulled his phone out of his back pocket and unlocked it, giving it to Bucky to input his number. Steve had left the top button of his shirt undone, the hollow of his throat looked very empty without Bucky’s lips. Bucky sent himself a text from Steve’s phone, feeling his cheap and outdated model buzz in his shirt pocket.

“Um, so Saturday?” Bucky asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. Steve grinned further as he moved past Bucky to pluck his jacket from the hook by the door.

“Saturday. I’ll text you.”

“Kay.” Bucky raised his hand in farewell as Steve shot him a smile and boarded the elevator.

Stark cleared his throat, “excuse me,” he said loudly, “there’s no eye fucking in my lab.”

Bucky’s smile dropped and he turned back to Stark with a scowl, the Asian woman rolling her eyes in annoyance.

“Can we just get this over with please?” he grumbled, yanking at his shirt as Stark snickered.

* * *

It turned out the Asian woman was his doctor, a woman named Helen Cho who was seemingly as brilliant as Stark. They took measurements of his shoulder, did tests, took his weight, his height, measured his gait and about a million other things. Stark showed him diagrams of the metal arm, a vibranium creation with thousands upon thousands of sensors to simulation sensation.

Cho took a mapping of the scarring on his arm with silicone as Stark showed him the attachment and explained how it would be inserted. Bucky watched the hollow circle with a ball joint spin through the air, feeling a little sick as Stark explained the attachment process and showed him the different anchors.

“Will it hurt?” Bucky asked, looking from Cho to Stark nervously.

“No,” Cho assured him gently, “you’ll be fully sedated. You’ll be a bit sore for a few days afterwards. If something happens, Tony and I will be close and we can get back to immediately remove it.”

“But we won’t need to,” Tony added, cocksure. “You’ll have to spend Christmas and New Year’s here just to be safe. But I’ll be putting the arm on just after New Year’s. Then it’s just on to rehab. You shouldn’t ever have to go under the knife again after this, Sarge. The arm is fully removable, and the attachment can be adjusted in lab, non-invasively.”

Bucky left with a surgery date, two weeks out on the 23rd of December. He called his mom on the way home, Hanukah would be over by then, so he wasn’t really concerned about missing a holiday. She promised she’d be there until they put him under.

After he hung up, he checked the text from Steve,

“ _9am, same place, I’ll be the one with the sketch book._ ” Followed by a little smiling emoji. Bucky couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he stepped out into the New York cold.

His mate sang a Christmas song as he took the steps down into the subway,

“ _We’re here tonight_

_And that’s enough_

_Simply having a wonderful Christmas time-_ “

* * *

Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. In between, Steve sent Bucky pictures of his workspace, his goldfish named Cap, his smiling face backdropped by a snowy New York skyline. Bucky sent back pictures of the stray cat at the corner bodega he’d taken to feeding (and admitted he’d named it Alpine and was considering adopting it), shaky pictures of little snowmen built along the sidewalk on his way to work, dirty and covered with exhaust.

His mate sang Christmas love songs, and carols. Bucky caught himself almost singing Hanukah songs with his mother and sister as the eight nights waned, having to keep himself from chanting the prayers and humming as he and his sister definitely didn’t fight over dollar store chocolate coins while playing with the dreidel. ( _His mother rolled her eyes and asked if they’d ever grow up._ )

He skipped his VA group that Thursday to spend the night at his mother’s. Friday was the final night of Hanukah and he had promised to spend the day with her, his sister and his niece, Sarah. He still found himself cringing when the squirming toddler wriggled her way into his lap, but his shoulders relaxed bit by bit as she babbled and happily grasped at his hair. A smile formed on his lips as Sarah giggled, Rebecca and his Ma watching him with something like relief.

Saturday finally came. He awoke early again; butterflies filled his tummy. He frowned, though, when he caught his reflection in the mirror. Back before everything, he’d always been slick and clean cut. The kind of guy people had fawned over, eager to be near to.

Now his eyes still looked dark despite his sleeping habits improving, his hair was lank and dead on the ends, despite the trim his mother had given him, reaching nearly to his shoulders, and his beard looked ragged over rugged. He set his jaw and decided he would get a proper hair cut before Steve saw him again and reached for a razor. He used to prefer an electric shaver, back before everything, but the buzzing sound now put him on edge, memories of blinding pain invading his mind.

As he started to wet his face and apply his shaving cream, his mate began singing.

“ _Butterfly, yeah_

_I dream about you, lonely without you, butterfly_

_Butterfly, yeah_

_Each night Im’ sleeping, your face goes creepin’, butterfly_ ”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a smile as he began to shave.

* * *

He had fretted over his clothes for nearly fifteen minutes, pinning and re-pinning the arm of his shirt three times, then switching the shirt and doing it all over. He struggled with an elastic in his mouth to try and put his hair up neatly. He was nearly late by the time he rushed out the door. He arrived at the restaurant with three minutes to spare. He caught sight of Steve at a window seat, a steaming cup of hot coco at his elbow, eyes and hands intent as he leaned over a sketch book. It made Bucky feel warm inside.

“Hey,” he said as he approached, Steve sat up and turned to look at him, a wide grin spreading across his face. The red cable knit sweater he wore slid down slightly, revealing a peek of pale skin and a little splatter of freckles.

“Buck, hey!” he said, eyes tracing over the tight blue Henley Bucky had selected. His eyes lingered over Bucky’s waist and legs, before bouncing back up to his face, eyes roving over his hair had been wrangled into a half bun, blushing a little. “You, uh, you look nice.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, dipping his head bashfully before stripping out of his outerwear and sitting opposite Steve.

“So, how’d it go with Tony?” Steve asked, closing his sketchbook, and leaning back.

“Good,” Bucky admitted, “I’ve got surgery on the 23rd. Week after next.”

“Really?” Steve asked, looking excited “I’m the 22nd. I think Tony is cramming us in while Cho is in New York. Are you excited?”

Bucky shrugged, “nervous, mainly. I don’t like the idea of surgery. But I’m also kind of eager to see if this arm is as good as Stark claims.”

“Oh, it’s better, I can promise you that.” Steve chuckled.

“Do you have anyone to stay with you? During Christmas I mean?” Bucky asked after the waitress brought him a cup of coffee.

“I think Sam might come visit but I’m not sure, his sister back in Virginia just had a baby.”

“Oh…” Bucky said stopping his stirring. “Well… I don’t celebrate Christmas, but I’d be happy to come spend the day with you. If you want, if you’re up to it. You know?”

Steve looked up, surprised. “Really?” he asked excitedly, “yea, I’d love that!”

Bucky grinned happily.

He and Steve ended talking past the brunch rush, past their food being eaten and the bill being brought. There was a hesitance when they stepped out on the street, but then Steve asked if he had plans for the rest of the day. Bucky lied and said he didn’t, conveniently forgetting the pile of laundry and dirty dishes that needed to be washed. They ended up walking aimlessly, picking a station and descending down into the subway.

“ _We goin’ to the end of the line, Buck?_ ” Steve asked as stop after stop passed and they didn’t step off.

“ _We’re goin as far as you want, Rogers._ ” It shouldn’t have been as suggestive as it was, but Steve still blushed and grinned bashfully, it made Bucky stand a little taller.

Somehow, they ended up in Central Park, renting out a pair of skates from a booth. Bucky was a mess, his balance all off with only one arm, holding on tightly to Steve and dragging them both onto their ass more than once. Steve just laughed and giggled brightly each time.

They talked about their childhoods, their holiday traditions. Bucky told Steve how his dad used to sing them to sleep with Romanian lullabies as a kid, noting the strange look that passed over Steve’s face, disappearing before it had fully registered. Steve told Bucky about his mother, who was a nurse, spending holidays in and out of hospitals, the fist fights he got into that drove his mom wild. Bucky laughed himself silly when Steve pointed out the bump in his nose from an old break and painted a tale of trying to fight a pair of backyard bullies off with nothing but a trash can lid.

“I had ‘em on the ropes!” Steve argued valiantly, Bucky just keeled over, wheezing with laughter.

They walked the park aimlessly, watching artists and vendors. Families, squealing kids and haggard looking parents. It was dusk before they realized how far away time had slipped.

“You probably gotta get home, huh?” Steve asked as they meandered back towards the proper station.

“Yea,” Bucky said, not being able to hide the disappointment.

“Well, we’re about to spend a whole week together. I bet we’ll be sick of each other by New Year’s.” Steve joked, nudging his side. Bucky grinned, shaking his head.

“Doubt it.”

* * *

The whole of next week saw Bucky in Stark’s lab almost every day. He toured the medical floor, including a peek inside the surgery room. Cho ran through the entire process with him, showing him the attachment himself, which was in a sterile glass case, awaiting the surgery day. It looked gruesome, dozens of tiny little needles meant to attach like wires, a vibranium ball joint to replace his natural shoulder joint, and a big gaping hole where the arm itself would be attached.

The medical floor was relatively small, two operation theaters, four hospital rooms, a nurse’s station with a handful of rotating nurses, and a recreation room which was fully decked out with a tree and all, looking like something out of a home and gardens catalogue. There was even a little star of David outlined over the fireplace in lights. Stark and Cho both assured him that his Ma was more than welcome to stay with him during sedation and that a bed could be brought in after surgery as well.

The whole time, he and Steve texted non-stop, they sent each other memes and youtube videos, pictures from work, videos of Stark’s nonsense and crazy antics. It was a constant stream of connection.

It was also a constant stream of Christmas music in his head, Bucky’s mate seemed to be in a bright and happy mood constantly, day to night. By Thursday’s VA meeting, Bucky was practically giddy. He hesitated when it was time to share as a group, listening attentively as people talked about holiday stress, anxieties about the bustle and noise, someone brought up going out of town on New Year’s, to the woods, somewhere without fireworks.

Gathering his courage, Bucky lifted his hand. Sam looked briefly pleasantly surprised, motioning that he had the floor.

“Uh,” Bucky glanced around, the eyes on him almost making him lose his nerve, “I’m, um I’m Bucky. I don’t usually talk during this time but… I’ve had some good developments recently.”

“How so?” Sam asked, smiling, knowing exactly what Bucky was going to say.

“I lost my arm overseas about a year and a half ago. I got a job working the security desk at Stark industries a few months back and I guess Stark took notice. He brought me into his rehab program and, um, this time next week I’ll have a new arm.” There was a murmur of congratulations and he blushed, smiling at his toes.

“I’m anxious about the surgery, but I’m excited to have an arm again too. And, um, I met someone, I think. He’s kind of in the same program so we’ll be in rehab together.”

“You think he could be your mate?” someone asked, a woman named Sharon who worked for the NYPD.

“No, no nothing like that. He’s just a good guy.” Bucky shrugged with one shoulder. Sam’s smile had gone a little tight, as if often did when discussion of mates arose. Sam had briefly mentioned on a few occasions that he had met his own mate in the Air Force, and they had been partners, until the mission that left Sam scarred and his mate dead.

“That’s great man, we’ll keep you in our thoughts.” Sam said, Bucky nodded in thanks as a people murmured in agreement. A few other people talked about holiday plans, the meeting taking a lighter turn and drawing to a close.

After the meeting Sam again met Bucky at the refreshment table.

“So, you and Steve huh?” Sam wriggled his eyebrows suggestively and Bucky grinned down at his cup.

“Yea, I think so. I mean we’ve only hanged out a few times, but he’s great.”

“He really is,” Sam said, a little more serious, “I have no idea what I’d have done after losing Riley if it wasn’t for him. Dude’s been through some shit, too.”

“Yea,” Bucky nodded, “He said he’s lost some people. I’m glad Stark found him.”

“Me too, we really thought he was a goner there for a while. He was so sick, we could barely make ends meet, kid was just wasting away. Stark’s an ass, but I’m grateful to him.”

Bucky nodded in agreement. “Will you be there? For the surgery?” Sam shifted, looking a little guilty.

“I’m staying with him the day of, but my sister just had a baby a few weeks ago so I’m going to Virginia for the holidays. What about you? Any Christmas plans?”

“I’m Jewish,” Bucky told him, “but I told Steve I’d be happy to spend Christmas day with him, assuming I’m allowed to leave my room.”

“Thank you, man,” Sam said, shoulders relaxing, “I owe you one, I hated the idea of Steve alone on Christmas, but-“

“No, I get it, man. That’s your family. I’ve been trying to spend more time with mine. I think a lot of us try to shut them out.”

“Yea,” Sam gave a rueful smile, “my Momma has been worried sick since I lost Riley.”

“My mom’s been the same since I got back. Just in their nature I guess.” They chuckled without any real humor.

“I’m gonna try and get my hair cut before the surgery.” Bucky mentioned thoughtfully, “I’ve had a hard time with it since I got home, but I think I’m ready to try. Just can’t figure out where to go.”

“Anything set you off? Or is it nerves?” Sam asked, reaching past Bucky to make his own cup of coffee.

“Electric razors. The buzzing right by my ears reminds me of…” He swallowed and jerked his head towards his absent arm, “hate ‘em.”

Sam hummed thoughtfully, “you know, I got a friend, works at a salon on east 38th. I bet she could get you after hours, she volunteers at women’s shelters around the city. Real light touch.”

“Really?” Bucky asked, perking up, “Thank you, it’s such a stupid thing to get worked up over, but…”

“It’s part of the process, man,” Sam said soothingly, “I’m glad you’re moving forward, these are a lot of good steps for you. Plus, gotta make sure you look fresh.” Sam winked at him playfully and Bucky found himself blushing and hiding his smile behind his coffee, feeling like a giddy teen.

* * *

The hairdresser was a sweet woman in her late 40’s with a full figure and cheery disposition. Bucky made an appointment for the Saturday night before his surgery. Sam had told the truth, the woman had a light touch, keeping up a cheerful dialogue, not forcing Bucky to talk much. By the time she was done, his hair still fell nearly to his shoulder, still just long enough to pull back. She put some kind of mask on it which left it soft to the touch, and once dry it had a little wave to it. Bucky preened, quite happy and feeling better about his self-image than he had in a very, very long time. He wouldn’t lie, he’d been a vain son of a bitch before he enlisted.

The woman showed him how to use mousse and leave-in conditioner, which kind of brush was best, and how to make sure his hair air dried nicely when he told her he didn’t really want to use a blow drier. She gave him testers of all the products and a few different combs and brushes for free, thanking him for his service on the way out. Bucky tried not to cringe, having always felt conflicted when people said such things. But he brushed it off, thanking her for her help.

He paused on his way home, stopping at the little art shop he passed nearly every day. He only contemplated for a moment before dipping in. He wandered the aisles aimlessly, before finding a book titled “ _The Restoration of Paintings_ ” and a sketch book stamped with Celtic knots. It was a small gesture, and Bucky had never really given Christmas gifts before, but he hoped it would be well received.

* * *

Bucky was at work when Steve and Sam came in at 9am Monday morning. Steve had a rolling suitcase and a satchel that was full to bulging. His eyes lit up when he spotted Bucky, making a detour to stop at his desk and leaving Sam standing near the elevator.

“Morning Steve,” Bucky said, smirking like the flirt he was. He knew he looked good today, his hair looked soft and he’d managed to wrestle it into a little half up bun again, much neater this time. He’d shaved himself clean that morning, but his dark hair still cast a shadow on his fair jaw. He had gained weight these few weeks, his eye bags less prominent. Steve seemed to be appreciating the view.

“You look good, Buck.” He finally said, making Bucky puff up proudly.

“Wish I could say the same for you, punk.” Bucky teased, making Steve grin brightly.

“I'm about to get a new heart, I don’t gotta look good, jerk.”

“You ready for it?” Bucky asked, a little more serious. Steve made an “ _Ehh_ ” motion with his hand.

“Ready as I ever am to be poked and prodded. I’ll see you up there?”

“Soon as they let me out of bed.” Bucky promised, making Steve grin brightly.

“Then I guess I got something to look forward to.” He winked as he turned to leave, making Bucky flush brightly, grinning as he watched Steve board the elevator. Sam tossed a wave his way, making suggestive hand motions behind Steve’s back, making Bucky roll his eyes.

* * *

Bucky and his mother arrived at the tower at 8:45 the next morning, boarding the elevator and riding up in silence. Despite himself, Bucky’s stomach was doing swoops and dives. His mother hesitantly took his hand, he squeezed tightly in thanks. Jarvis stopped the elevator at the medical floor, where Bucky and his mother were met by two nurses. They explained that Stark and Cho where getting ready for surgery, and that they’d be anesthetizing Bucky. He took a deep breath as they handed him a gown, pointing him to a changing area.

When he came back, they tucked his hair up into a cap, before directing him to lie down on a gurney. He kept his eyes on his mother in the corner of the room, her smile encouraging.

“Ok Sergeant Barnes, I’m going to put this mask over your mouth and nose, I need you to breath deeply and count backwards from 100,” the nurse said gently. Bucky nodded, allowing them to put the mask over his face securely. Despite himself, he felt tears pricking at his eyes and his heart racing.

“It’s ok James, just breathe deeply,” the nurse soothed, adjusting a few valves. Bucky tilted his head, watching as the nurse encouraged his Ma to come closer and grab his hand. He felt silly, and childish, but immensely thankful for her warm hand in his.

He took as deep a breath as he could, beginning to count.

“One hundred, Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven…” He didn’t even make it to sixty before the world faded away.

* * *

He awoke sometime later, stiff, but not hurting badly. He shifted his head, looking down at his now bare chest. His left shoulder was swathed in bandages, hiding the implant from his view. His Ma was staring seriously at a book in her lap, humming along to an old jazz song.

He shifted and grunted when the soreness in his shoulder became apparent, drawing his mother’s attention.

“Bucky, honey,” she said, shifting her chair closer, hitting the call button.

“Hey,” he grunted, trying to find leverage to sit up.

“Stay down, sweetie, they need to check it before you move around,” his Ma ordered gently. Bucky obeyed and yawned, rubbing his face, he could feel the lines from the anesthetic mask on his face still.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“They said it went good-“ his Ma started, cut off by the door opening. Cho and Stark both entered, Stark looking rather smug.

“Morning, Sarge.” Tony said, looking at the tablet in his hand and making a tossing motion, projecting the screen into the air while Cho moved, checking Bucky’s vitals.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked as she fiddled with the heart monitor by his side.

“Fine, a little sore.”

“We can up your pain killers a little, if you like?” she said, pulling a pair of scissors from her pocket and beginning to cut at the bandages.

“No, I’m ok for now. Just feel like a big bruise.”

“That’s normal.” Stark spoke up, “we attached new material into your skeletal structure. You’ll be sore for a bit.” Stark stepped up as the attachment came into view. The metal was a black gunmetal, streaked through with gold.

“Woah,” Bucky breathed, eyes going wide in amazement. Stark grinned, setting down the tablet to pop on a glove.

“She’s a beauty, here,” he ran his finger over the exposed outer metal seam. Bucky gasped.

“I can feel it!” he exclaimed, reaching up on instinct.

“Perfect,” Stark said, “how about this?” he asked, sticking his fingers inside the socket itself. Bucky looked away, the image of Stark reaching into his arm making him nauseous.

“No, I can’t feel that.” He reported with relief. Stark retracted his fingers and started tapping on the screen again.

“Everything looks like it should. Try to move your left arm for me.” Stark leaned forward, tapping his watch which shined a light into the cavity of Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky tried to roll his shoulder, for once free of the tightness and pulling his scars had created. “Cool.” Stark chuckled.

“How is it?” Cho asked, pulling on a pair of gloves, and coming to stand next to Stark.

“Perfect, mechanically. He’s all yours.” Stark stripped off the glove and took a step back, tapping on his tablet, making another tossing motion, a model of Bucky’s new arm appeared in the air, matching golden streaks and all.

Cho stepped closer and began to prod and gently push on the attachment, asking how Bucky felt. Bucky told her, truthfully, he was sore, but the tightness from his scars was gone, and the constant ache in his back as well.

“That thing those fuckers put on you made a big gouge in one of your vertebrae,” Stark told him distractedly, “but Cho here has this fantastic invention she brought with her, grafted new bone over the open area. Once we get the arm on you, your back aches and balance issues should be a thing of the past.” Bucky looked at him mom, grinning brightly. She looked close to tears, watching like she was seeing a miracle.

“How long until then?” his Ma asked. Stark looked up like he’d forgotten she was there.

“I’m going out of town until the 3rd, my mate has insisted I _rest_ ,” Stark sighed in regret, “but Cho will be here in the tower if there’s any complications and I’ll just be upstate, a short jet ride away.”

“But we want Bucky to rest and relax until Tony comes back. There’s still open wounds under the implant, and his body will need to adjust. But he looks great. If he needs a stronger pain killer, he can ask for one. Otherwise, we’ll be taking him off the opioids tonight.”

“Is he ready for that?” his Ma asked, brow furrowed in concern.

“I am.” Bucky told her, chin up, “and if I’m not I’ll ask.” Cho nodded in agreement.

“Your kid is gonna be just fine, Mrs. Barnes.” Tony spoke up, sounding uncharacteristically sincere, “he’ll be spending the next week or so being spoiled. We’ve got nurses around the clock, anything the kid wants, he’s just gotta ask and it’s his, seriously. Anything. Food’s great here by the way, but he can have whatever he wants in the city.” His Ma chuckled and wiped her eyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark, for all of this.” Stark looked suddenly bashful, grumbling and allowing Bucky’s Ma to throw her arms around him in a hug, awkwardly patting her back.

“Well, he’s a good kid.” Stark muttered, blushing bright red.

“I’m almost thirty.” Bucky protested lightly.

“Now you’re starting to sound like Rogers.” Stark said with a knowing smirk as Bucky’s Ma backed off him.

“Is he here? How’d his surgery go?” Bucky asked, excited.

“Kids great. He’s gonna need to rest for a while, but it seems like the heart’s taken well.” Bucky felt rush of relief.

“When can I get up and see him?”

“Not till tomorrow.” Cho said sternly, “you’ll need to use a wheelchair at that. Take it easy, Sergeant.”

“Yes ma’am” Bucky said cheekily, taking himself by surprise and giving her a lazy salute that felt very pre-enlistment Bucky, an action which made his mother in the corner smile.

After they left, his mother sat back at his side.

“You look well, baby. Even this morning, you looked… lighter.” She said, laying her hand over his, he turned his hand palm up and held hers tightly.

“I feel lighter. Things have been getting… easier lately. Not just cause of the arm. I feel like I’m finally moving in the right direction.”

“Does this have anything to do with that boy, Steve?” His Ma asked, a small smile on her lips. Bucky grinned and scoffed playfully, before shrugging.

“I guess so, a little. I haven’t spent a lot of time with him, but I like him. He’s just…” Bucky shrugged again, unsure how to describe the way Steve made Bucky feel inside. Full and complete.

“I’m glad, baby. I worry about you so much. You’re always gonna be my little boy.”

“You’ll always be my Ma.” Bucky responded dutifully.

His Ma stayed a while longer, making sure Bucky was comfortable, making sure the food actually was a good as Stark claimed (it was better). As she donned her coat, she reminded Bucky that she would be spending the next two days at Rebecca’s, celebrating Christmas with Rebecca’s husband’s family, since they had been courteous enough to visit during Hanukah. Bucky assured her he’d be fine as she tugged the blankets further up, double checking his phone and charger were in reach.

“You listen to your doctor.” She ordered, every bit a scowling mother, as if Bucky was about to go tossing around cars and getting into firefights on bridges.

“I know, Ma.” He whined without any heat, “you go have fun. Spoil Sarah for me.”

“You spoil her enough as it is.” His Ma teased, hesitantly touching his cheek until he bowed his head and allowed her to place a kiss on the crown of his head.

“Love you, Ma.”

“I love you too, baby.” She said, pinching his cheek before gathering her purse.

* * *

The ache never really got any worse, but the pain killers none the less allowed Bucky a full night’s sleep for what felt like the first time. He awoke feeling refreshed and comfortable. After breakfast, he asked the nurse to help him put on clothes and go visit Steve. He obliged and allowed Bucky to wheel himself to the chest of drawers which held his clothes, selecting an oversized t-shirt and sweats. The nurse was even patient enough to let Bucky fiddle with his hair in the mirror that sat above the dresser, brushing his hair, and contemplating a shave before deciding against it.

“So, is this a date or something?” The nurse asked good naturedly. Bucky flushed, pausing in running his hand through his hair, trying to position it just so.

“Is it that obvious?” he asked. The nurse made a face that told him very clearly, yes. Bucky chuckled and shrugged, finally letting his hair be.

Steve was sitting up when Bucky got there, tiredly tapping his iPad, seemingly scrolling through a book. He perked up significantly when Bucky was wheeled through the door. Bucky returned his grin happily.

“Hey there, surgery buddy.” Bucky greeted after thanking the nurse who parked him by Steve’s bed.

“You made it.” Steve sounded bright and overjoyed, making Bucky’s smile grow.

“I promised I would. You’re stuck with me for a bit, punk.”

“Or maybe you’re stuck with me, jerk.” Steve snarked.

They traded surgery stories, Bucky tugged down the collar of his shirt and the edge of his bandages to show off the metal.

“You should let me draw it once it’s fully on.” Steve said, flushing a moment later. “I just meant-“

“You wanna see me without my shirt?” Bucky finished, a tilted grin on his lips, cocksure in a way he hadn’t been in forever. Steve flushed bright red and spluttered, making Bucky laugh.

A different nurse brought in lunch from what Steve said was his favorite restaurant in the borough. The nurse helped Bucky plop himself in a large recliner, shoved close so he could look at Steve’s iPad and sketch book. Steve excitedly showed him videos of a man restoring works of art, and his sketch of Stark and his fiancé, and mate, Pepper.

“She was his assistant for years. Apparently, she knew he was her mate the second day on the job, but she didn’t want to deal with a playboy addict, you know? Anyway, Tony says she sang to him after the heart surgery and that’s how he found out, isn’t that cute? God bless that poor woman.” Bucky laughed.

“I bet he’s a handful.”

“So is she,” Steve assured, “Tony’s smitten, you should have seen the teddy bear he bought her for Valentines a few years ago.”

They both dozed a bit after lunch, eyes heavy after their respective surgeries and a full meal. When they awoke, one of the nurses had left a plate of cookies and two tall glasses of eggnog on the rolling side table. Steve’s eyes lit up and he grinned.

“I know you don’t do Christmas, but do you maybe wanna watch a few movies anyway?” Steve looked at him hopefully.

“Of course.” Bucky told him, groaning as he sat forward and moved the table with cookies between them, taking a sip of his eggnog and a bite of a bell-shaped cookie while Steve turned on the big TV.

Steve landed on “ _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ ”, wriggling excitedly as it began. “Have you seen this?” he asked.

“I’m Jewish, not a hermit.” Bucky told him around a mouthful of cookies, making them Steve chuckle and roll his eyes.

They both laughed at the appropriate times, joking that the Grinch got more relatable each year. When the movie began to close, with the Whos all singing around the tree, Bucky heard his mates voice in his head singing

“ _Fah who foraze! Dah who doraze!_

_Welcome Christmas, come this way!_

_Fah who foraze! Dah who doraze!_

_Welcome Christmas, Christmas Day!_ ” at the same time Steve quietly sang along beside him.

And the moment it registered, the strangest sensation went through Bucky, making him lose his breathe. It was akin to the feeling down one’s spine after someone had blown or whispered in their ear, only times a thousand. Every nerve alive at once, a tingling down into his fingers and toes. He looked at Steve in awe as the realization was made.

His mate.

He was looking at his _mate_ , he’d been right beside him and hadn’t even known.

And he’d made Steve believe he was dead for almost two years.

Steve paused, brow furrowed in concern, “Buck? You ok?” he asked.

“Yea,” Bucky lied, voice a little blank, before he blinked the confusion away, “uh, yeah. I’m fine, just a little ache in my arm.”

“Do you want your pain killers?” Steve asked, already reaching to page the nurse.

“No,” Bucky said a little too quickly, “no, sorry. I’m fine. We’re both taking pills with dinner, I’m good for now.” Steve frowned but agreed.

They watched another movie, thankfully not a musical, something Bucky was both sad and grateful for. He didn’t know how to hide the sensation Steve’s singing had sent through him, but God did he want to feel it again. Bucky had never known anyone who met their mate besides his grandparents. He remembered being small and asking them what it felt like, how they knew. They’d just smiled at each other like they shared a secret and promised Bucky he’d know if the time ever came.

Well. He certainly knew.

After dinner, Bucky watched one more movie with Steve before calling it a night and heading back to his room.

He facetimed with his Ma, who showed off the new onesie she’d put Sarah in. Sarah babbled happily and squealed when she saw Bucky on the small screen, making Bucky smile with warmth.

A few hours later, though, he was staring at the ceiling a fretting over how he was supposed to tell Steve. He opened his mouth, thinking about singing for Steve, then hesitated. It didn’t feel right, to announce his continued existence but not tell Steve to his face. Steve deserved better; he deserved an explanation. But would he even want Bucky? Sure, he’d made progress, but he was still a mess. He still had horrible nightmares and was barely functional somedays, he still had a whole mountain of baggage at his back. Would Steve want that? God knows the smaller men had his own shit to deal with.

Bucky squirmed for hours, unable to sleep, until the nurse on duty came to check on him. She insisted on administering a light sedative so he could get some restful sleep, citing his continued healing. In the morning light, Bucky was just as conflicted.

He barely needed the nurses help dressing and managed to stand at the bathroom mirror after his shower without any help. He combed and parted his hair, applying the products his hairdresser had recommended, rubbing a hand over his grizzled jaw before shaving.

Steve’s gift was wrapped in silver and blue, the only wrapping paper Bucky had on hand, little glittering stars of David shining brightly, a silver bow taped on top. It had been a heel trying to wrap the damn thing one handed, but Bucky had managed to make it a neat enough job after several attempts. Bucky helped Steve would like it.

“If you’d like, you can both have breakfast in the rec room, as long as Mr. Rogers doesn’t get up or get too excited.” The nurse said as she helped Bucky into his wheelchair. That gave Bucky a moment of pause.

“What happens if he gets too excited?” He asked, frowning.

“He’s still pretty weak. Dr. Cho said no caffeine, and no excitement but said it’d be fine if he got up for an hour or two this morning. He’ll probably get tired pretty quickly though.” The nurse rolled Bucky out of his room, parking him in the rec room. A huge brightly lit tree stood in the corner, the little star of David made of lights twinkling away above the faux fireplace. The floor to ceiling windows revealed the snow coated New York skyline, a view Bucky would never grow tired of, or take for granted again.

After the nurse left to fetch Steve and some food, Bucky sat his gift on the table, adjusting and readjusting it nervously. A moment later Steve was rolled in, a red and silver bag shining in his own hands. He smiled at Bucky shyly as the nurse parked his wheelchair opposite Bucky at the table.

“I’ll be back with some food in a bit.” The nurse said, a small smile on her lips.

Bucky and Steve just stared at each other for a second before breaking into grins.

“Merry Christmas.” Bucky blurted out at the same moment Steve said, “Happy late Hanukah.”

They excitedly slid their respective gifts across the table. Steve tore into his and ran his hand over the cover of the restoration book, thumbing through it with a little “ _ohh_ ” and “ _ahh_ ” of excitement.

“I don’t really know a bunch about restoration, so I’m not-“ Bucky started, anxious that Steve may not like it. But Steve broke him off with a hand laid over Bucky’s on the table.

“They’re great, Buck, thank you.” He said sincerely, making Bucky flush in a bit of pride.

“Open yours,” Steve insisted, nudging his gift forward, making Bucky grin widely. He tore into the package with gusto, Bucky lifted his own book out of the bag, grinning when he read the title. “ _Romanian folk tales: in English and Romanian_ ”.

“Steve, its great.” Bucky said, “thank you.”

“Do you know any Romanian?” Steve asked as Bucky ran his hand over the slightly textured hard cover.

“A little,” he admitted, flipping open the page and recognizing several stories that his father had told him as a young boy. “My Hebrew is pretty passable, but my Romanian is rough at best.” Bucky gave a chuckle, looking at Steve, whos face was a little pained.

“You know,” he said, eyes a little sad and contemplative, “my mate used to sing in Romanian and Hebrew when we were kids.”

Bucky tried not to freeze in guilt, “that’s not a common mix.” He said delicately, closing the book.

“Hell of a coincidence, right?” Steve gave a smile, a little tight and sad. Bucky fought the urge to gulp nervously like a damned cartoon character. He was saved by the nurse wheeling in a cart of food.

“Mind if we join you boys? They’re playing “ _A Christmas Story_ ” all day on tv.” She asked as her fellow nurse helped unload the food. Bucky and Steve agreed and cleared the table, happily digging into their breakfast.

Steve sat on the couch next to Bucky during the movie. Part way through the second movie, some weird Claymation thing Bucky had never seen, Steve began to drag. His head dropped until it was resting on Bucky’s good shoulder, soft, warm little puffs of breath against Bucky’s upper arm. A blanket had been tossed over their legs, the side of Steve’s foot pressing against Bucky calf. Bucky hesitated only a moment before wrapping his arm around Steve, pulling him closer.

The nurses insisted on taking Steve back to his room after that. Bucky watched dejected as they woke Steve and loaded him back into his wheelchair. He perked up, however, when they came back and told Bucky they could practice him walking up and down the hallways. That night they ordered Chinese takeout and happily munched around Steve’s bed, watching “ _It’s a Wonderful Life_ ”. Steve kept humming under his breathe, stealing the air in Bucky’s lungs.

The next several days passed in the same manner, Bucky participated in light physical therapy, sometimes with Steve, but often not. Steve bounded between wheeling about the medical floor and sleeping. Bucky and Steve watched movies together, Bucky sat and posed for Steve as he filled up several pages of his new sketchbook with drawings of Bucky.

Bucky’s Ma visited along with his sister, husband, and their daughter. Paul, Rebecca’s husband, brought Bucky a batch of homemade fudge which Bucky shared with Steve. The snow came down heavier and heavier, Bucky and Steve took to sitting in their wheelchairs in front of the windows in the rec room, all the lights turned out. They watched the lights dance by on the streets far below, talking in whispers about their childhood as the tree continued to twinkle away in the corner. Steve was highly intelligent, fierce, passionate, and Bucky felt his heart ache with fondness more and more as the days passed by.

Every few hours he would look at Steve and open his mouth, drawing air to sing. And every time, Steve would look up at him with something like awe, and Bucky would lose his breathe in a gasp. Every night, Bucky justified his continued cowardice by citing Steve’s healing.

New Year’s Eve found Bucky sleeping in late. He was roused by the sound and feeling of Steve humming and turned his head to see him sitting in the recliner by Bucky’s bed.

“Walked all the way here myself.” Steve told him proudly as he looked up at Bucky from where his nose was buried in the art restoration book. Bucky grinned back at him, wriggling to sit up and forgetting his shirtless state for a moment.

“Good job, pal.” He said, yawning and running a hand through his messy hair. Steve’s eyes were glued to his chest, mouth just slightly agape. Bucky blushed, immediately tugging up his blankets, trying to cover the multitude of scars.

“Sorry,” he started, at the same time Steve did as well. They both stopped, staring at each other.

“It’s not nice to look at.” Bucky admitted, flushed and unable to meet Steve’s eyes.

“I think you’re beautiful.” Steve said, setting his book aside and reaching for Bucky’s hand. Bucky looked at him, hesitant. Steve was blushing and embarrassed but determined. “I mean it.” He insisted, before reaching up and tugging down his own shirt, revealing the fresh scar running down his chest.

“We’ve all got scars, Buck. There’s no helpin’ that.” Bucky paused before reaching out, gently running a finger down the surgery scar.

“Sam says scars mean we survived.” Bucky said, sitting back and feeling his shoulders unwind.

“Sam’s a thief,” Steve declared, sniffing in faux annoyance, “I said that way back when we moved in together.” Bucky grinned and chuckled a little.

“Thank you.” He said, sincerely. Steve looked him over, his face drawn like he wanted to say something.

“You don’t gotta hide from me, you know.” Steve told him. Bucky opened his mouth, maybe to respond, but the nurse walked in with a plate of food.

The nurse suggested that Steve and Bucky take a nap during the day if they intended to stay up all night.

“What do you usually do for New Years?” Steve asked as they read in companionable silence.

“I used to go out before everything. But it didn’t really matter over there, and last year I was still in the halfway house. We all kinda hunkered down and just wore earphones.”

“You have a hard time with the fireworks?” Steve guessed, Bucky hummed and shrugged a little.

“I’m not too bad, it can make me pretty anxious though.” Bucky told him honestly.

“I think its sound-proofed up here, you might not even have to hear it.” Steve supplied, looking hopeful. Bucky’s lips twitched up into a smile.

“What do you do?” he asked. Steve shrugged.

“My Ma and I used to light a candle and pray for anyone we lost that year. But after she died, I just stayed home and watched old Twilight Zone reruns on the syfy channel.”

“Twilight Zone?” Bucky asked, confused, “that old black and white show?”

Steve perked up, grinning, “yea! Have you watched it before?”

“Not really, I just know it exists.” Bucky admitted. Steve snapped his book shut, leaning forward in excitement.

“Oh man! It’s only, like, the greatest show in existence. Like, some of the episodes are mind blowing and so progressive for the time, you know? There’s this one episode with this woman, and her face is, like wrapped in bandages and she spends the whole time talking about what a monster she is, and-“ Steve’s eyes shined like fireflies as he rambled excitedly about the origins of the show, the history, the creator, giving little details about his favorite episodes. Bucky couldn’t stop smiling at Steve’s infectious enthusiasm.

About four, Steve went back to his room for a nap. Bucky buzzed the nurse and asked if he could get ahold of a few things, and if Bucky could come set them up. The nurse was happy to help.

Bucky and Steve were rolled into the rec room for a late dinner that night, which the nurses joined them for. They spent the next few hours laughing and playing card games. The two nurses even popped a bottle of champagne as midnight drew near.

“Only a little,” they said, as if sharing a secret. It made Bucky feel like a kid at a family wedding, his cousin slipping him wine coolers while his Ma wasn’t looking. Bucky’s Ma called from Rebecca’s house about 11:50PM, wishing Bucky a happy New Year, his sisters was already sloshed, singing off key in the background.

As midnight drew near, Bucky, Steve, and the nurses all crowded around the large windows, glasses of bubbly in hand. Bucky stood next to Steve, still sore and tired, but proud of how well he was healing. Bucky looked down at Steve, his golden hair and bright eyes shining in the low light. Suddenly, lights flashed. Bucky flinched, until he realized it was the midnight fireworks. The screaming of New York crowds and the pop of fireworks silenced.

The nurses began to sing as they all clinked their glasses in toast.

“ _Should auld acquaintance be forgot_

_And never brought to mind?_ ”

Steve joined in as Bucky grinned into his glass, Steve’s singing sending a shiver down his spine.

“ _Should auld acquaintance be forgot_

_And days of auld lang syne?_ ”

Bucky made the mistake of looking down at Steve, whose eyes were boring up into him seriously, searching. As if he knew.

“Happy New Years, Stevie.” Bucky finally said, lowering his glass to meet with Steve’s when the smaller man lifted his.

“Happy New Year, Buck.”

The nurses cleared out a few minutes later, dispersing to call loved ones but telling Bucky and Steve to take it easy, not stay up late, call them if they needed help. Bucky and Steve agreed and agreed. Finally, they were alone, and Bucky chewed his lip.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yea?” Steve looked up, eyes hopeful.

“I… I’ve got a surprise. If you want it.”

“What surprise?” Steve asked.

Bucky stood from his wheelchair and walked to the chest of drawers in the corner where they had discovered the tower of games. The top drawer held six white candles in holders with a box of matches. Bucky set them out on the coffee table one by one, making a few trips as Steve rolled his wheelchair closer.

“What’s this for?” Steve asked, as Bucky sank to his knees beside the candles.

“I, um… I thought you might like to light a candle for your Ma?” Bucky said, adjusting the candles to stand in a straight line. Steve groaned as he stood, brushing off Bucky, falling to his shaky knees beside the larger man.

“Who’re the others for?” Steve asked, running a finger over the other five candles. Bucky paused, then began to touch each candle in turn.

“Dum Dum, Morita, Falsworth, Gabe, Dernier.” Bucky whispered, feeling tears sting his eyes. “They were with me. Back there. I couldn’t save them.” Bucky felt his lip trembled and cleared his throat, rubbing his eyes harshly.

He looked up at the sound of a match being struck. Bucky watched as Steve lit his mothers’ candle, then handed Bucky an unlit match with his other hand. Bucky lit his match on Steve’s, and lit his own candles one by one, remembering the friends he’d spent so long trying to forget. He blew out the match and dropped it on the glass table. He and Steve sat for a long moment in silence, until the wax began to drip down the sides.

“Come on,” Bucky urged, helping Steve stand, sitting them both on the couch. “Which episode do we start with?” Bucky asked as he queued up _the Twilight Zone_. Steve snuggled into his side happily.

“You ever seen Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder?” Steve asked, Bucky shook his head in the negative. “Start there, and we’ll… just keep going.”

* * *

They snuck past the nurse’s station to Steve’s room, where Bucky helped him back up into bed.

“Hey, Buck?” Steve said, grabbing his wrist before Bucky could pull away.

“Yea, Stevie?” Bucky asked. Steve hesitated for a moment before grabbed Bucky’s collar, tugging him close, planting a kiss on Bucky’s lips. Steve tasted like champagne and the home-made cookies they’d been splurging on all night.

Bucky gasped, feeling like he was free falling headfirst and never wanting it to end. He pressed closer, cupping Steve’s jaw, tilting his head. Steve’s fingers tangled in his hair, a sigh breathed against his lips. Bucky felt full and complete, like he was lit up from the inside out.

“You should stay here.” Steve whispered against his lips, not exactly a demand but compelling none the less. Bucky nodded blankly, tugging back Steve’s blankets and crawling into his bed. It was a tight squeeze, they both had to lay on their sides and fight the wires tying them up. In the end, Bucky had Steve tucked against his right side, Bucky’s arm thrown over slender shoulders.

Bucky fell asleep with ease, Steve’s smaller hands clutched in his shirt, golden hair tickling his jaw. An all-encompassing peace easing his mind.

* * *

The next morning Bucky woke with the sun, the gray morning and silver snow brightening the room. Bucky looked down at Steve’s face tucked against his neck and drew a fortifying breath.

Bucky pressed his lips against Steve’s ear, a whisper so light it was just a gust of air.

“ _My baby never fret none_

_About what my hands and my body done_

_If the lord don't forgive me_

_I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me_

_When I was kissing on my baby_

_And she put her love down soft and sweet_

_In the lowland plot I was free_

_Heaven and hell were words to me_ ”

Bucky could feel the moment Steve awoke, his body tensing following by a small gasp.

“ _When my time comes around_

_Lay me gently in the cold dark earth_

_No grave can hold my body down_

_I'll crawl home to…_ ”

Steve pulled back and looked at Bucky in amazement.

“You.” Bucky finished. “I’ll crawl home to you.”

“Oh, you fucking jerk.” Steve yelled, grinning with tears in his eyes. He sat up startlingly fast and kissed Bucky deeply. “I knew it, I fucking knew it, you asshole!”

Bucky laughed, feeling bright and free as a child, wrapping his arm around Steve tightly.

“I love you, I love you.” He managed in between kisses, tears running down his own cheeks. Steve laughed with him, all warm hands, and warmer lips.

* * *

1 year later

Alpine had managed to knock the menorah over yet again, even though Bucky had put it on their highest shelf after Hanukah was over. Bucky grumbled and replaced it regardless. Their little tree twinkled merrily in the corner, Alpine himself no doubt hiding among the branches.

“Stevie, baby you ready?” Bucky yelled as he checked his reflection in the mirror. Mismatched hands rising to fix his hair. The prosthetic had taken like a dream, and Bucky quickly became Steve’s favorite muse. Bucky couldn’t count how many painting Steve had made of him like a modern Greek god.

“I can’t find that watch Tony gave me!” Steve whined from their bedroom. Bucky sighed in exasperation, looking at Alpine who had poked his head out of the Christmas tree.

“If you did this…” Bucky threatened. Alpine meowed at him and disappeared back among the branches. It took another few moments to find the damned watch, which Alpine had in fact dragged into his little bed by the couch.

“ _Snow is snowing_ ” Steve sang as Bucky straightened his tie. Bucky grinned at the shiver it sent back up and down his spine.

“ _What do I care how much it may storm?_ ” Bucky sang back.

“ _I’ve got my love to keep me warm._ ” Steve finished, grinning as he dragged Bucky in for a kiss by his lapels.

“We’re gonna be late.” Bucky warned as Steve ruined his hair.

“Fuck Tony’s stupid party, let’s just stay here and watch Twilight Zone episodes.” Steve moaned against Bucky’s lips, tv shows the farthest thing from his mind from the feel of him.

Bucky laughed, hugging Steve tightly with two arms, sliding his prosthetic arm up to cup Steve’s face. Bucky could feel the warmth of him, the feel of his mates smiles against a metal palm. Outside the New York streets flooded with well wishers and New Years partiers as the snow fell slowly.

Bucky had never been happier than this moment right here, Steve in his arms and a song in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs lyrics used in order of appearance
> 
> Too Ra Loo Ral  
> One Tin Soldier- The Original Caste  
> Work Song- Hozier  
> Gloomy Sunday- Billie Holiday  
> No Plan- Hozier  
> Wonderful Christmas- Paul Mcartney  
> Butterfly- Barry Gibb  
> Welcome Christmas- How the Grinch Stole Christmas  
> Auld Lang Syne  
> I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm- Dean Martin


End file.
